


The Eve of Battle (NaNoWriMo 2018)

by spartankisses



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-16 21:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16502750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spartankisses/pseuds/spartankisses
Summary: In times of old, enemies often came together to form an alliance for a greater cause: in this instance the survival of an ancient treaty and of a dwindling race depends on a trio of unlikely friends. A charming prince, a witty witch, and a secretive outcast form what would be the greatest alliance in Tristion history.





	1. NaNoWriMo Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> nanowrimo for 2018, will write more when i don't want to bash my skull in. probably never going to finish this but yeehaw

November 2 (day 1 for me) pt.1 of chapter 1

 

Keesta was never fond of leaving her drab, little home, and she was especially not fond of stinking men in their suits of armor-gore and sweat slick down their bodies and faces. It was distasteful and sent shivers running down the column of her spine.

Though, it seemed she would be stuck traversing between the small stream that dribbled behind her quaint cottage to the soldiers that had set up camp outside of her home in search of remedies and the mending of broken this and thats. The first day they had sauntered onto her premises, the smell of blood and decay ran rampant and Keesta pressed the back of her wrist against her mouth to keep the bile from passing her lips. Most of their wounds were treatable with rest and tinctures; festering and oozing sick was the least of her worries when her eyes fell on a figure slumped in the saddle of rather lanky horse. 

She stalked towards him with great speed, parting the sea of mumbling soldiers with sure arms and an eye full of worry and uncertainty. 

"What has happened?" Her voice was curt and clipped, demanding, and the loitering man near her right stuttered briefly but straightened his back and spoke clearly when he caught a glimpse of her narrowed eyes and lips pulled thin in disappointment. 

"King Alaris had sent for us on urgent matters," he paused to watch Keesta press her nimble fingers against the seated soldier's temple, only when she frowned did he continue, "we were ambushed in Hadli, m'lady."

Keesta whirled around at that, hoisted her skirts up, and stamped back towards her abode, her mind skimming though all the possibilities of what this could mean, for both her and Tristion as a whole. Urgent matters? An ambush, in Haldi of all places? The summoning of a lowly lord's men? _War_. Alaris was preparing for a battle, and the skirmish in Haldi was enough for her to confirm her suspicions. If it was truly indeed war, then she, too, would soon be summoned by the king, and it was her duty to respond with great haste.

"Bring him inside and take his armor off," her sharp tone softened as she reached the entry of her shanty, but remained firm all the same, "and do not call me, 'm'lady'." 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 1 Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn of Keesta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, still chapter 1, just a continuation on a separate page to keep myself fluid with nanowrimo. I actually hate this chapter because it sucks and i have no idea what I'm doing but yeehaw

November 3, (day 2 of NaNoWriMo for me) pt. 2 of ch. 1

 

The stuttering fool stood flabbergasted at Keesta's demands, but none the less, he obeyed and called to another armor clad brute. Together, they slipped their gloved hands under the armpits of the lad slumped above the charger and pulled him from the saddle, his limp arms draped over a shoulder of each of the two men.

It was a ghastly sight, and though Keesta had seen many war torn bodies and gruesome scenes, nothing could ever prepare her for the pale faces that flirted dangerously with death; she could hear his skeletal fingers clack together faintly in the back of her mind, and as the two abled bodied men lamely began to drag the seemingly lifeless form towards her home, a cold wave of dread washed over her. It settled atop her like a sheen of mist, but only this time Keesta would not be able to brush away the meaning of this sad inkling.

Her freshly beaten rugs were splattered with mud and viscous streaks of blood as the trio trudged into her home and she had to bite her lip to conceal her obvious distaste at the sight of her precious cot being coated with sick and death when they laid the wounded fellow down.

"I can comfort him, but your friend has a fever and his wounds are too great and deep for me to heal. See," Keesta moved towards the solider on her bed and lifted the hem of his blood-soaked shirt: his abdomen had been cleanly sliced open from rib to gut; the edges of the wound were ridged, raised, and painted a very angry hue of red. "He has gone too long without treatment and his wounds have festered," she sighed defeatedly and dropped his tunic, "it will be a miracle is he will live through the night. If this infection does not kill him, the fever will."

"Is there nothing you can do?" The faltering buffoon babbled before casting a sorrowful look to the cot and its inhabitant. He rushed forward and grasped Keesta by her shoulders and shook her vigorously, "surely, there must be _something_ you can do!?"

The chainmail above his breastplate clanked loudly in her ears and made her flinch at the unfriendly metallic sound. She felt caged, trapped, and the dark haired broad slipped free from his grasp. Her lips curled in displeasure before her palm sailed soundlessly through the air and met its mark. _Smack!_ The noise and her angered breathing bounced from wooden wall to wooden wall.

"How dare you!" Her voice was shrill and both men visibly shrunk at the crackling timbre, but Keesta was not finished with her onslaught of ear-splitting words, "I offer your wounded boy a place to lay, I tell you the grim reality, and you doubt me? Do you think me to be a liar?" She laughed then and a crazed fire ignited in the warmth of her amber eyes, "I will do whatever I can to make your poor boy comfortable in his time of passing, but lay another hand on me again, I will feed your retched innards to your men."

The threat was clear and vivid, and Keesta meant every word of it. 

The knight recoiled and tipped down his head enough that she was momentarily satisfied with his respectful antics.

"Go. Get out, now, or I will have you wack the horse shit you brought in from my rugs," she waggled her fingers menacingly and pushed the two soldiers back towards the door.

"Wait," the stubborn halfwit paused and his face reddened in the slightest, "you never gave us a name."

 _'Ha! What a green boy he is!'_ She thought to herself, but his hard headedness amused her enough to grant him a name.

"Keesta. Now, out!" She firmly shoved him forward and shut the door before he could say anymore.

He froze mid step and the blood chilled in his veins. Could it really be? Was this in fact the king's witch?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> charger = horse  
> inkling = feeling, suspicion


End file.
